How A Heart Breaks
by lycanus1
Summary: Following a traumatic attack by someone she should have been able to trust and count as a friend, a devastated Sigyn comes to a fateful decision that she may well end up deeply regretting ... ** WARNING: strictly AU **


_**Disclaimer:**_ Everything recognizable belongs to Norse Myth, Paramount Pictures, Marvel Entertainment & Marvel Studios (gods-damnit !) No copyright infringement is intended.

 **A/N: this tale has been lurking in my files for a while now and is about the aftermath of a sexual assault made by someone who was considered a friend by the victim - if this triggers any bad memories/recollections, please do not read any further.**

 _ **XXXXX**_

It had been two days ... Two days since it happened.

Two days of absolute misery. Shame. Humiliation. And suffering. The pain Sigyn felt tore at her. Mentally. Emotionally. And physically. Her body still ached terribly after that narcissistic bastard had manhandled it. It felt tender. Sore. And no matter how long she'd bathed for after she got home ... the length of time she sat in a wooden tub of hot water, scrubbing hard at her delicate skin ... she _still_ felt dirty. Violated. Sigyn convinced herself that it didn't matter how often she attempted to wash away the lingering filth of _his_ touch, that she would never feel clean again ...

She was aware that she looked a mess thanks to her wildly disarrayed chestnut mane of long, glorious waves, the deep, violent bruising on her wrists, the grazes left by his stupid mustache upon her creamy skin and the livid, vicious bite mark on the side of her throat. And the state of her back after she'd been roughly pushed against the palace garden's stone wall ? It continued to hurt like hell. And she daren't lie down because of it. Even the feel of the soft, skimpy, white shift she wore at night, chafed her badly bruised skin, bringing tears to her wounded, hazel eyes.

She'd refused to leave her chamber after she'd got home. Had taken to her bed to lick her wounds. She couldn't face anyone. Was too ashamed of herself for being duped and fearful of how everyone would perceive her. That they would think she'd been stupid and had brought it all on herself. That she was a cock-tease who'd knowingly led him on then had cold feet at the last minute. Her belly suddenly growled, demanding sustenance, yet the thought of eating made her stomach turn violently in protest. Food was the last thing she wanted.

Sleep was proving elusive. Every time she closed her eyes, she re-lived what had happened in the garden during the feast. Cursed her own stupidity for leaving the relative safety of the stiflingly hot Golden Hall for some much needed fresh air only to fall victim to the unwanted advances of Asgard's resident lothario. The realm's self-prolaimed "swordsman" who was irresistible to all of woman-kind. The fact that the arrogant fool was too drunk to pay heed to her protests of not being interested in him, that she loved another, his friend and brother-in-arms at that, had made no difference to him. Nor did her frantic attempts to evade his uninvited, clumsy efforts to seduce her either or how the stench of ale on his breath sickened her. And that was why she lay curled up in a foetal position on her bed. Cowering and trembling violently with delayed shock and fear. Sigyn was exhausted, yet dared not fall asleep ... Not when all she could see was short, blond waves instead of a long, thick, ebony mane with braids and a neatly trimmed beard; could only hear an annoying, ingratiating whine rather than the deep, taciturn, husky growl which made her insides melt and her heart flip; feel a swaying, drunken body crushing hers, one which wasn't familiar, lithe, hard, toned and never failed to make her knees buckle and her senses reel ...

She hated the way Thor's _trusted_ companion and someone her beloved called "friend" made her feel so ill at ease. That his touch and attention - which were both unwelcome and abhorrent to her - made her skin crawl. That he had reduced her to this. A pathetic mess. Fearful. Humiliated. And deeply ashamed. Somehow, he'd succeeded in crushing her spirit ... Breaking her will ... Making her feel worthless ... weak ... and tainted.

Grabbing one of the pillows, Sigyn held it close, wrapping herself around it and stared blindly at the flames which burned in the fireplace. Two nights ago, Loki had realized that the violent tremors which racked Sigyn's willowy frame and the loss of body heat, were side-effects from the trauma the younger woman had experienced. And since then, the Golden Realm's most skilled sorceress had insisted a fire was lit in her room to keep her warm and that she'd wanted for nothing. At first, Sigyn, had protested. Not wanting to make a fuss. But the older woman, who was also her mentor, trusted confidante and closest friend, knew shock when she saw it and refused to back down. And Sigyn, if she were to be perfectly honest with herself, was far too weary to argue with her.

Once the initial shock had worn off, anger and frustration set in. Anger directed at the man who'd drunkenly assaulted her. Frustration towards herself for naively allowing herself to be duped in the first place; then resentment for being so pathetic and full of self-loathing for naively having faith in someone who clearly did not deserve that trust. All those emotions were swiftly followed by shame. Sigyn was a shy, sweet-natured and intensely private person at heart and the thought that everyone who mattered to her knew what had taken place, mortified her. And the thought of having to face them - even though she'd done nothing wrong - was unbearable ...

At first, her kin came to her in turns. Trying to provide comfort and to ascertain what had happened. Her initial response had been to flare up angrily and to tell them to 'mind their own fucking business and leave her the hell alone.' Poor Tyr finally felt the full extent of her wrath when she aimed a bowl full of stew towards him, when he, full of brotherly concern, refused to take the hint and leave. The wooden bowl barely missed his head by inches and bounced off a nearby wall. Tyr then realized that she was unwilling to talk and sensibly retreated.

By the time both Thor and Volstagg realized something was amiss, her attitude had changed. She'd erected a wall around herself. Refused to talk to them. To acknowledge their presence. In the end, she refused to see anyone. Didn't want to see anyone. And didn't want anyone to see her.

Yet, there was an exception to that rule. There _was_ one she longed for ... would give anything to see. One who meant everything to her.

Hogun.

She'd missed him terribly. Yearned for him. Yet he'd stayed away, or so her tumultuous mind would have her mistakenly believe. And that hurt. Truly hurt. The acute pain she felt was worse than anything she'd ever experienced. It pierced her as surely as a knife piercing her heart. That he no longer wanted her. That he did not wish to see her. To have anything to do with her. Sigyn gasped sharply at the thought and hugged the pillow tightly. Silent tears began to fall once more. She felt truly alone. Abandoned. And rejected.

All she really wanted was to know that he was all right. That he'd returned safe and sound from his homeland, Vanaheim.

Sigyn trembled and felt cold. Empty. She lethargically reached for a large fur and drew it over herself in a vain attempt to get warm. The last time she'd felt cocooned in warmth, she'd been in Hogun's arms. He'd made her feel safe. Protected. Cherished. And she'd loved the sensation of being held by him. In that respect, Fandral had been totally wrong in his estimation of the quiet, ruggedly attractive Vanir. That he was a cold, remote, unfeeling man. Hogun _had_ been gentle. Had shown warmth, passion, tenderness and compassion. And _had_ been kind ... And that rare display of affection had only served to endear him even more to her; made her fall even deeper for him ... Proved that he was a man worthy of love and to be loved.

And he was a man - a warrior - of honour with a strict moral code who possessed a keen mind and immense courage. A good, kind man who deserved so much better ... A woman who was truly worthy of him. Not one who was tainted and weak ... Who was now 'soiled goods.'

Sigyn's fingers curled around the black, braided leather and silver thong Hogun had given her before he left for Vanaheim. "Something to remember me by and so that you'll always carry a piece of me with you," he'd murmured huskily as he'd tied it around her delicate wrist. With a sad, wistful smile on her lovely face, she stroked the soft leather reverently, before lowering her head to brush her lips lightly against it. Like a talisman, it gave her the strength and courage to decide what to do next, even though it would break her heart irreparably. She sighed tremulously and allowed her slender arm to fall back against the thick, warm pelts which shielded her bruised and still tender flesh.

She would do it. No matter how great the pain would be. How terribly she would suffer ... of how badly her heart would break. But it was something she _had_ to do. It was the right thing to do. The fair thing to do. It would be wrong of her to expect the man she'd willingly and happily bound herself to - the one she adored - to remain with her after what had happened. She would not - _could_ not do that to him. Because she loved Hogun, she would not tie him down and force him to be with her. And it was due to the strength and depth of those feelings she was able to make the agonizing decision to set him free. To release Hogun from the claim he'd made ... the claim for her heart.

 **FINIS**


End file.
